“No. We’ve discovered their size diminishes markedly with each generation if their diet requirements are not met. And one of the main ingredients can only be sourced here at Gloomenthrall and it’s not limitless.”
“Pity. They appear to have the temperament for battle.”
“They can hold their own, but I would be loath to think of them as nothing but fodder in a campaign.”
Talac allowed the conversation to taper off, matching his food consumption to Alia’s so when she stood up to gather her empty plate and utensils, he mirrored her action, enjoying the disconcerted look she sent his way.
“Do you have time for that tour now? Or should I just follow you, observing your activities this morning and wait until your schedule clears up later?” Hah, no way was Talac going to let her shake him, he intended to cling to Alia just as tenaciously as her shadow.
“I could have one of my lieutenants show you around?”
“I wouldn’t want to put them to any trouble. Besides-” His words interrupted by the sound of crockery breaking and the clatter of cutlery hitting the floor, followed immediately by an outraged bellow mixed in with a feminine cry of sheer anger.
Alia moved like a strike of lightning. Producing a knife and flinging it across the hall, the tip slicing through the sleeve of the one armed man who had it raised in the air. Effectively pinning him to the wooden doorframe directly behind him.
Closing in fast on his position, Talac noted the man was burly and red-faced, still struggling to free his arm, whilst at his feet lay a woman, barely out of her teens, glaring up at him. A furious expression on her face, a red mark blazing on her cheek. Broken plates and strewn cutlery surrounding her.
A hush had fallen over the crowd. Only the harsh breathing of the pinned one armed man could be heard as he struggled to free himself, muttering curse words under his breath. Finally, thanks to an extra hard yank, the sleeve of his tunic tore, sending him stumbling back two steps, kicking fallen debris aside before he could recover his balance. Chest heaving, brushing back lank dark hair from his face he looked around, noting the sudden silence and that he was the centre of attention.
“That clumsy bitch bumped me. It was her fault.” His words directed at Talac, perhaps assuming he was in charge. “And… and she kicked me!”
“What say you, Kayleigh?” Alia directed her words at the young woman who’d now gotten to her feet. She was slight of build, dressed in dark pants and a matching tunic. Her brown hair pulled back from her pale face, the clear outline of a handprint blazing a dark pink colour on her left cheek.
“Hey!” The man bellowed. “I told you what happened.”
“And you think I should take your word, Master…?”
“Wilton.” He announced in a surly tone, his gaze flicking to Talac once more, ignoring Alia. “I ain’t no scullery maid, your Lordship. I served in Mountlaid’s Fifth battalion. A sergeant. I could be of real use to you.” Wilton’s gaze flicked to a man standing off to the side, his right hand missing, a silver hook catching the light. “If you’d just give me one of them, and train me up. I’d be a right asset to you.”
“I am no Lord, and you appear to be under a misapprehension as to who is in charge here, Wilton.” Talac looked to Alia, giving her a slight bow of respect.
“Hah, right. A woman! Next you’ll be trying to tell me she’s the Beast… that’s who I want to speak to, the man in charge.”
Alia stalked over to Wilton, and despite all his bluster he cringed back a little as she swept past, effortlessly retrieving her knife from the arched wooden frame of the doorway leading through to the kitchens. Still no one else spoke, or moved for that matter. And finally, Wilton, looking around to gauge the level of support from the other men in the hall, began to look a little unsure.
Pausing next to Kayleigh, Alia studied the hand imprint on her cheek. The girl lifting her chin defiantly, letting the room know without words that she was fine.
“You believe you’re too good to work in the kitchens?” Alia queried, turning her attention once more to Wilton.
“Damn right, I do.”
“Who here has spent time working in the kitchens?” Every hand, including Alia’s rose up, excluding only Talac and a few very small children that were watching the proceedings with serious eyes from the shelter of their parent’s arms. “You’ve been here six days Master Wilton, and though it was thoroughly explained to you upon your arrival, you appear unable to grasp what is expected from you in exchange for being fed, sheltered… and perhaps one day trained by our instructors in how to overcome your recently acquired limitation.”
“I have no limitation! Give me a sword and I’ll prove how good I am, one arm down or not.”
“A challenge? And just whom would you fight to prove this lavish claim of expertise? Master Belms?” Alia gestured to the man with the hook, who remained stoically still, though his eyes glittered with anticipation.
“I could take him.” Sneered Wilton.
“Ah, but your grievance isn’t with Master Belms, is it? Your grievance is with Kayleigh. What say you, Kayleigh?”
“Hey. I ain’t fighting no kitchen wench.”
“Funny, you were happy to lay a hand on her when her back was turned… perhaps more disturbing is that you thought you, a newcomer, still unproven, could grandly and loudly cast aspersions on a long time loyal and industrious Lair resident without any consequences. Kayleigh?”
“Yes. I would gladly match steel against Wilton. I owe him more than a swift kick. And I believe it’s long past time that a woman teach him that we do not like to be slapped, cursed at, or have to work twice as hard because he’s a lazy crud bucket.”
“Why you little-”
